


oversee

by pseudocitrus



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heaven forbid they work late again today without Furuta getting <i>something</i> out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oversee

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [监视](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7912474) by [Lucyair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyair/pseuds/Lucyair)



> i'm not sure where this fic came from...? :'D;; it's pretty self-indulgent.
> 
> hope you're having a good day!

_Keep an eye on him._

This was probably not what they intended, but…well. Heaven forbid they work late again today without Furuta getting _something_  out of it. As payment for carrying their document-heavy briefcase home and promising to go over it with him, Kaneki agreed to stop at a bar. Presently, Furuta raises a glass of sake, and makes his smile just a little wider.

“Cheers?” he says. “ _Boss_?”

Kaneki regards him, pushing up his glasses. The red glove squeaks, just a little, as his fingers flex.

“Come on,” Furuta says. “One drink. To celebrate our brand-new partnership.”

Kaneki’s nose wrinkles; his mouth knots. Sasaki Haise wouldn’t be the type to say _You’re an idiot_ , and Furuta can tell this is what Kaneki is thinking too. So Furuta puts down a wooden box, and then a small glass, and pours sake into the latter until it’s overflowing.

“Come on, Boss,” Furuta whines. “I’m sure you’ve had worse.”

Like a couple eye-opening stabs.

Or a centipede.

Or a well-placed steel girder.

“You can take this much.” Furuta’s voice turns into a purr. “Can’t you?”

Kaneki looks down to adjust his glove. For a second Furuta thinks that he won’t bite. But then Kaneki gazes at him sideways. He fixes Furuta with his right eye, and reaches.

The glass goes down in one go.

:::

It’s not enough to make him really sick. At least not immediately.

And it’s definitely not enough to get him drunk.

So, when they get back to Kaneki’s shiny new apartment, stumbling with increasing fervor, Furuta knows: _it’s not true._ When they grip each other even more tightly and even more in vain to keep steady, Furuta knows: _it’s a lie._ They head down the corridor and Furuta slams his shoulder against a wall a little, for good measure, giving himself a good reason to bound back and lean all his weight on Kaneki completely, and it’s not even a little bit funny but the two of them start snickering even though it isn’t even a little bit of a joke.

The door swings wide, and then shuts. The dim lights cast them in yellow. Their shallow laughter dies off into breaths made ragged by the effort of getting here, and made loud by the room’s total silence. There’s no ticking clock, no humming refrigerator. Furuta sets the briefcase down and slips himself out of his coat with a little whistle.

You don’t go watching someone for a couple of years without getting to know even a little bit about them. Once Furuta’s coat is hung up, he turns Kaneki around and starts helping him out of his coat too, and is more than a little pleased when Kaneki goes rigid and then almost immediately loosens up again.

“That’s it, Boss,” Furuta says soothingly. He throws Kaneki’s coat into the closet and shuts it, and then puts his hands on Kaneki’s shoulders and turns him around so they’re facing each other. “Let’s get to know each other a little better. We’ll be working together for a long time, won’t we?”

“Working together,” Kaneki says. “For a long time still.”

There’s something — off, about the way he said it, but when Furuta puckers his lips in confusion, Kaneki just smiles. The expression maintains when Furuta loosens Kaneki’s tie, doesn’t break even when Furuta yanks and lets the tie slip between his fingers and onto the floor. Furuta leans down, just a little, gauging, and Kaneki’s smile wanes, just a little, as his lips part. Behind his glasses, his eyes are fixed on Furuta’s own mouth, and Furuta grins and kisses him.

He tastes like sake. He didn’t lick the remainder of it from his lips earlier, so Furuta takes the opportunity to do it himself, indulgently. He works at the buttons of Kaneki’s shirt as Kaneki swallows and gives a little shiver.

 _Easy_ , Furuta thinks. _Way too easy._

So much for Kanou’s greatest prototype, much less the next Arima Kishou-san. Not a bad body, though. A proper amount of muscle, and just enough fat. Kaneki’s shirt parts open, and Furuta smooths his gloved hands over his new boss’s chest, pinching Kaneki’s nipples lightly with V-posed fingers and feeling his grin spread as Kaneki gasps. Another kiss is all it takes for Furuta to get to his belt buckle, and by the time his mouth has made it to Kaneki’s throat Kaneki is pulling himself out of his slacks on his own, and jerking Furuta’s belt sharply from all its belt loops.

He wasn’t thinking of doing it this way, right out here in the hallway, but sure, sure, on second thought, that’s pretty hot, and anyway, he’s getting way too hard to want to consider stumbling over to wherever Kaneki’s bed is and trying to get the mood right again. Furuta starts to work off the red gloves, but Kaneki whisks him off. He starts rubbing at the bulge of Furuta’s cock, and Furuta sputters out a disbelieving laugh as Kaneki drops onto his knees.

“W-wait,” he says, _I don’t know that I trust my dick going into the mouth of a half-ghoul,_ but Kaneki, if he hears him, doesn’t care. His fingers hook on the hem of Furuta’s boxers, and Furuta coughs as he bobs free, both vaguely horrified but also feeling himself get harder as Kaneki takes a whiff, and then opens his mouth.

Fuck. _Fuck_. There’s no way Furuta can put this on the report, _Kaneki Ken can suck a dick_ , but, _fuck_ , it seems like a shame. Kaneki’s tongue fondles and his throat squeezes and Furuta can’t help but grab Kaneki’s head and ease him just a little closer, just a little. He feels the first drops of precum burst out of him, and straight down Kaneki’s swallowing throat.

He lets it go on just a little longer before the pressure builds too much. He pushes Kaneki’s head back, gulping down breaths. Kaneki stares up at him, and slowly licks his lips.

 _That’s it._ _That’s it._ You don’t go watching someone for a couple of years without getting to have at least a couple fantasies. Furuta grabs him by the shoulders and straightens him up and against the wall. Furuta ungloves his own right hand, and Kaneki, so new and yet already an admirable partner, knows exactly what he’s doing. He opens his mouth to admit Furuta’s bare fingers, and laps and sucks until they’re thoroughly wet.

 _Easy_. _Way too easy._

Kaneki’s leg folds around Furuta’s waist, easy, and Kaneki parts for him, wider, and wider, easy, easy. His glasses fog as Furuta’s breath becomes labored, and he turns his head to the side, giving Furuta access to his luscious soft throat. Furuta eases closer, and closer, and the first sound out of Kaneki isn’t labored at all, but full of achy pleasure, realer than anything he’s offered to anyone lately, a noise more genuine than perhaps anything Furuta has ever seen out of him. Furuta stabilizes, and swallows, and then thrusts into him in earnest, hearing himself groan as if from a distance, hearing Kaneki’s moans get higher and more hungry.

 _More_ , he’s saying, and, _It feels good_ , and, _Good, good, you’re doing — good_ — and — something — in Furuta swells up, just a little, just a little something that is nevertheless hotter than anything he’s ever felt, higher than the pit of his belly, almost to his chest. Kaneki’s glasses are going askew, and Kaneki shoves them up the bridge of his nose and then cradles Furuta’s face with his red gloves. Kaneki looks down, and as he bestows a kiss on him Furuta trembles, and _thrusts_ , and releases, with an unstifled cry.

Not soon after, Kaneki’s fingers curl stiffly against Furuta’s cheeks, and he moans as he climaxes next, legs squeezing, burying his face into Furuta’s shoulder and digging his teeth with perilous sharpness against Furuta’s skin. He gives another little noise as Furuta withdraws, and then he just leans against the wall, chest heaving, shirt damp, trying to catch his breath.

 _Not bad_ , Furuta thinks, hazily, as he buttons himself up again. _Not bad at all._

:::

They collect their clothing and the briefcase, and wander into the kitchen. Furuta sits at the counter as Kaneki searches out for paper towels and pulls on his slacks and then, in typical Kaneki fashion, starts a pot of coffee. Furuta snorts.

“Take a break for once, will you, Boss?”

“I did,” Kaneki says, without turning around. He pours one mug of coffee, and then a second, which he slides across the counter. Furuta takes it, with a grimace, and a sigh.

“How do you manage to put me through all this trouble?”

“It’s easy,” Kaneki replies, unclipping the briefcase and starting to arrange the documents for reviewing. “Way too easy, in fact.”

Furuta sips his coffee. As usual, it’s impeccable. The taste of it distracts him, and the result is that a full minute passes before he blinks and furrows his brows at Kaneki with confusion.

“Wait,” he says. “What did you say?”

But Kaneki just smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
